When Darkness Falls
by Shunyata Ryuen
Summary: Based on the book but inspired by the movie, this is an expansion on the fateful encounter with the ringwraiths in the chapter, "A Knife In the Dark," told from Sam's perspective.


DISCLAIMER: Lord of the Rings does not belong to me, and neither do Frodo, dear ole Sam, Merry, Pip-Pip-Pippin, or the valiant Strider. The ringwraiths, however, are my loyal and undying servants until the end of my days. *whispers* They like to go after people who read but don't review! *cough-hack* But, no pressure. Really.  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Based on the book, inspired by the movie, this is my take on what was going on beneath the surface of that fateful encounter with the ringwraiths in the "A Knife in the Dark" chapter. Also my first (serious) attempt at LOTR fanfiction, so be gentle. ^_~.  
  
---  
  
When Darkness Falls  
by Ryuen  
  
  
~*~*~  
  
From The Fellowship of the Ring:  
  
"Over the lip of the little dell, on the side away from the hill, they felt, rather than saw, a shadow rise, one shadow or more than one. They strained their eyes, and the shadows seemed to grow. Soon there could be no doubt: three or four tall black figures were standing there on the slope, looking down on them. So black were they that they seemed like black holes in the deep shade behind them. Frodo thought he heard a faint hiss as of venomous breath and felt a thin piercing chill. Then the shapes slowly advanced.  
  
"Frodo was hardly less terrified than his companions; he was quaking as if he was bitter cold, but his terror was swallowed up in a sudden temptation to put on the Ring. The desire to do this laid hold of him, and he could think of nothing else . . . He could not speak. He felt Sam looking at him, as if he knew that his master was in some great trouble, but he could not turn towards him. He shut his eyes and struggled for a while; but resistance became unbearable, and at last he slowly drew out the chain, and slipped the Ring on the forefinger of his left hand."   
  
~*~*~  
  
One minute he was there beside me, this pinched look on his face, like he was trying to talk himself out of doing something horrible...and, then, the next minute, he was gone. Poof. Vanished. I felt like a part of me was ripped out of my chest--it was hard to breathe all of a sudden.  
  
"Mister Frodo!" I shouted. I knew he had to be around here somewhere--he must've used the Ring, Bilbo's Ring, but...but, where...? If I couldn't see him, how in the blessed heavens was I supposed to protect him?   
  
Strider's voice was hard and tense from behind me. "Where is he?" he shouted. He'd been ducking towards the fire, trying to grab up one of the branches, I guessed, but now he was just standing there, staring at me and the place where Frodo'd been standing. "Where IS he?"  
  
He musta known that I didn't rightwise have a clue, but he asked, anyway, and all I could do was shrug. "I don't know, I don't know," I said. My voice sounded frantic, even in my own ears, but I couldn't get that high tremble out of it. "Mister Frodo!" I cried again. "Frodo!"  
  
The Black Riders--ringwraiths, Gandalf called them--were slinking towards us like jaguars getting ready to pounce, swaying a little on their feet. If they HAD feet--I didn't know. My head was spinning. I was looking this way and that, trying to catch some glimpse of dark hair or a rustle of movement. I wanted to move, but I didn't dare--what if he was lying there on the ground, and I stepped on him? I let myself hope that maybe he'd made for the woods, that the ringwraiths couldn't see him and he was escaping right now...but, I don't think I really believed it. There was something heavy tugging at the pit of my stomach, something dark twisting at my heart.  
  
And, then, suddenly, I saw it. A glimmer of red, floating in the air a few steps in front of me; a fiery glow, folding into the shape of a sword. And, right in front of it were the ringwraiths, standing there with their blades raised high.  
  
"Frodo," I whispered.  
  
By now, Strider'd got his hands round one of the flaming branches, was tugging it out of the fire as fast as he could. I don't know how, but he heard me. "Where?" he demanded.   
  
It was obvious now. The ringwraiths weren't interested in any of us, or in just taking the ring. They were here for one reason--to kill Frodo--and, now... The dark something in my heart twisted a little harder, even as an awful, distant scream--like it was coming from under the earth, or something--echoed in my ears. The world went suddenly grey.   
  
They'd done it. They'd done it. They'd killed him... It was too late.  
  
My arm felt dead, but I lifted it anyway, pointed to where I'd seen the flicker of Frodo's sword, where the blade of the nearest ringwraith had dropped just a second earlier.   
  
A ghost of Gandalf's voice screeched in my ear. Too late, it hissed. Too late, Samwise Gamgee. Too late.  
  
Too late.  
  
Strider dove past me, landed firm on the ground a little to the right of where I figured Frodo was lying, and swung the flaming torch at the head of one of the Black Riders. It gave a little screech and shuffled backwards, but not before the fire rippled onto its black robes, started to catch. The others turned and made off down the hill, slinking back the way they'd come, but the one stood there and shrieked for a few more seconds, the flames spitting up over its head like one of Gandalf's fireworks gone wrong.  
  
.  
.  
.  
  
And, all of a sudden, Frodo was lying on the ground in front of me.  
  
Things were moving too fast for my mind to keep up, spinning around like an out-of-control wagon, but I knew one thing--dead men didn't pull rings off their fingers, and, if that was true, then glory me, Frodo was alive. I swallowed. Or, at least, he'd been alive whenever he pulled it off. Whatever the case, I wasn't about to stand around and wait for someone else to see to my master. I ran to his side--Merry and Pippin were right at my heels, chirping, "Frodo! Frodo!" in such high voices that I almost didn't recognize them.  
  
Strider came running up to us just after we reached him. He was out of breath and all sooty from the flame branch, but he didn't look like he'd been hurt. "Is he alive?" he asked tensely.  
  
"He don't look like he's breathin'!" Merry exclaimed. "Is 'e breathin', Sam? Is 'e?"  
  
I knelt beside him--the earth was damp and soft against my knees--and put my hand on his chest. It came up wet with blood.  
  
Pippin gasped, and Merry went pale.  
  
"No," I said. My voice was still shaking, but somehow I managed to sound firm. "No, it's okay. He's breathin'. His heart's beatin'."  
  
Pippin let out a big sigh and leaned against a tree trunk, while Merry sank onto the ground and closed his eyes. "Thank goodness," Merry said. "Gandalf would'a turned us all into crickets."  
  
Strider's voice was tight. "He may still yet." He was holding something--it took me a few seconds to recognize it.   
  
"The Rider's sword," I said.  
  
Strider nodded. He lifted the sword a little, held it to the light--and, suddenly, it flashed red and sizzled into ash. Strider dropped it like it'd stung him, shaking out his fingers like they burned. "It's a cursed blade," he said a moment later. And, then, like he was talking to himself: "No wonder I ran them off so easily." He moved closer to Mr. Frodo, who was writhing a little bit on the ground, his face twisted up in pain. "They must think they've got him."  
  
Suddenly, the tears were stinging in my eyes, but I didn't let them fall. I sucked in a heavy breath and tried to calm down, even though Strider's words just kept echoing in my head like they were stuck or something. "D...DO they got him, Mr. Strider?" I managed after a moment. "Is Mr. Frodo goin' to...?"  
  
"I don't know, Sam." Pause. "I don't know. But, I know that this kind of wound is far out of my power to heal. The only ones who can save Frodo now are the elves, in Rivendell. We must go there right away. Elrond will be able to help him."  
  
"But...but, it's too far!" I cried. "He'll never make it!"  
  
~*~*~  
  
From Fellowship of the Ring:  
  
"'Don't despair,' said Strider. 'You must trust me now. Your Frodo is made of sterner stuff than I had guessed, though Gandalf hinted that it might prove so. He is not slain, and I think he will resist the evil power of the wound longer than his enemies will expect.'"  
  
~*~*~  
  
I could only bite my tongue and nod, praying to every god there ever was that he was right. 'Cause if he wasn't, I didn't rightwise expect I'd ever forgive him.  
  
--- 


End file.
